


The King and His Companion

by Siriex



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriex/pseuds/Siriex
Summary: Their meeting changed everything.





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> A re-imagining of the Epic of Gilgamesh in the Nasuverse.  
> Based on an unholy mishmash of (occasionally conflicting) canon, headcanons, and about five separate translations of the original Epic.  
> I'm posting the first half here in the hopes that it motivates me to finally finish the second half. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

               On the eighth day Enkidu wakes to find Shamat wiping the sweat from their forehead. Her hair is wet and she smiles like the sun as she takes their hand and helps them to their new, human feet. She leads them to the stream where she found them, down into the water.

               “Why do we bathe?” They ask, watching with fascination as the water drips from her hair and down the curve of her back. Their body is but a rough approximation of a human, but hers is perfect in every way. They force their spine to mimic her shape.

               Shamat laughs and leads them deeper into the currents. She has dark circles under her eyes- ones that she did not have when they’d first met. But she has hardly slept in a week, and despite her ethereal beauty, she is mortal. She seems happy despite this.

A soft cloth appears in her hand, and she washes their body in swift, practiced motions. “You must go to see the king,” she says. Her fingers slide through their mass of tangled hair and they purr, “And it is my responsibility to ensure that you look presentable.”

               Enkidu does not understand, but they let her clean their body and weave flowers into their hair. 

               It is an unfamiliar feeling, but it is not unpleasant.

               That night, as the sun sets and the creatures of the plains seek safe haven, she tells them of people and cities and the gods above and the king of the land below.

               When Enkidu finally sleeps they dream of a voice calling out to them from the stone walls of a faraway city. It was the first voice they’d heard, long before they were aware of their own. Back then they could never make out the words, but its cadence was always a comfort. Now they think they hear words. Now the voice sounds strained.

               The next morning they ask Shamat for permission to mimic her face. She laughs and asks why, and they tell her that she is the most beautiful thing that they have ever seen. They can think of no better appearance with which to greet the king of the land.

**

               Enkidu wakes with the dawn and leans into the warmth at their side. Shamhat’s body is pressed against them, but with a gentleness that they are not accustomed to. They think that it suits her better. She breathes soft and sound and the fatigue has finally evaporated from her features. With cautious care they sweep their fingers through her hair, slipping past the knots she’d missed yesterday. They do not know what a goddess looks like, but they cannot imagine that any creature, mundane or divine, could match her beauty.

               The sun draws them to their feet as it always has, and they cast their eyes to the horizon where they know a flock of shadows watch from afar.  Enkidu never knew their mother, but they were not born alone. From the moment that Aruru placed them upon the earth they were surrounded by a myriad of living creatures. The lions brought them meat, and the gazelle brought them milk. When the nights were cold they curled close to the cattle, and on warmer days they escaped to the water with the cranes.

               Their family does not like humans and Enkidu had not been fond of them in turn. The only humans that ever make their way into this land do so in order to steal away the simple lives they live. But Shamhat is different. Enkidu cups their unfamiliar hands about their mouth and calls out to their world on the horizon in a language that Shamhat cannot understand.

               But rather than approach to meet their friend’s new companion, the animals disappear into the rising sun. It is the rational choice. Enkidu is not human but now they smell of humans. They are not human but now they have taken the shape of a human. They are not human but now they think as a human thinks and walk as a human walks and sleep with a human at their side.

               Pressure builds in their chest but it has nowhere to go. They are solid. There is no room. They will burst they will burst _they will_ _burst_. Everything has been cast adrift, and their head spins, cut free from all they’ve ever known.

               But Shamhat is warm against their skin, so they press up against her. She smells of the stream and flowers and a faraway city that they know exists but have never seen. The pressure dissipates. A voice from far away lulls them back to a state like sleep.

               -

               The sun bakes their skin until it is warm to the touch. They wake to the sound of robes ripping. They are on their feet in a moment, desperate, grabbing, but Shamhat’s hand presses against their chest and they can feel her steady pulse pumping against them. The skirt that she wears is shorter now. Her skin stands at contrast with the white of the linen. She is beautiful. Their mouth works towards unfamiliar speech, and their hands seek out any sign of injury.

“Enkidu, stay still,” she laughs, and holds out a length of cloth. It is the first time that they have heard their name from another’s lips. They obey. She wraps the cloth about their body as if she has done this a thousand times before. It scratches at their skin and they wriggle but make no attempt to remove it.

“Someone is calling me.” They tell her. “From the city. They have been calling me for a very long time. I want to go.”

“I know.” She brushes her hand across their cheek. They close their eyes. “But there is more for you to learn.”

“I know.” Enkidu echoes. “Please teach me.”  

-

               There is a hut on the edge of the plains that belongs to a man and his son. It is separated from the wilds by a stream. Enkidu has chased the son this far before, but never past the water.

Shamhat does not need to hitch up her skirt when she wades into the creek.

               Enkidu stops where the water laps at their toes. They can see the walls of the city from here. It is incredibly far away, but its shadow lurks upon the horizon. Shamhat’s hand is a soft tug against theirs. They hardly notice the pressure. “Enkidu,”

               The world shrinks to the space between their clay and her skin. Shamhat is warm. They can feel her pulse under her palm. Each heartbeat guides their footsteps further forward with their eyes sealed shut, until they are through the water and their feet are on firm ground. The city walls loom on the horizon, and the hut breathes with the wind before them. Large white eyes gape out through one of the windows. Enkidu raises their hand as Shamhat had shown them, and the head ducks back into the darkness.

               It takes until sunset to coax Enkidu through the door, and for the hunter to emerge from his hiding place. He seems much larger than before, but he shakes just the same. Enkidu can smell his fear upon the air. He knows. “You are the Priestess from the city,” he tells Shamhat, though his eyes remain fixed on Enkidu’s. “Then this is the beast?”

               Shamhat squeezes their hand, and Enkidu looks down to where her fingers lace with theirs. It is a perfect match. They marvel at the complexity of her joints, her skin, her nails, and the copy that they have become all tied together in a single place. She continues to talk, her voice a choir in comparison to the hunter’s harsh words.

               Enkidu is pulled from their reverie by the soft smack of fabric against their head. A robe falls over their linked hands, and Enkidu snatches it away. “Tell it to put that on,” the hunter says. “Dinner is ready. I will make you two a bed while you teach that _thing_ to eat.”  

**

               The temple of the goddess Ninsun rests at the top of a hill in the center of the city. Gilgamesh comes here often, and is always received with great affection. Today he is greeted by an abundance of priestesses, offering food and silks and greetings. He waves his hand. The temple is empty in moments.

               Ninsun herself waits in the furthest room. She lounges upon a throne of stone, aglow with gold and lapis lazuli and immeasurable _power._ Upon his entry her ruby lips stretch into a grin and she floats to her feet. “Gilgamesh. What brings you here?” She twists her fingers and a glass of wine floats to his side.

               Gilgamesh plucks the cup from the air and takes a steady sip from shaking hands. “Mother,” he says, “I have had a dream.”

               The room dims. The absence of busy feet of the army of priestesses echoes. Ninsun sinks back into her chair and props her chin upon the back of her hand.

               Gilgamesh paints great pictures with his words upon the dark in great sweeps of his cup.  

_There are axes and swords and spears and plants. Fields stretch for eons filled with chaos, and a star falls to earth among them. Its impact shakes the ground that Gilgamesh stands upon, and everything crumbles. Uruk, the earth, the sky, the people, and the gods- and a great light binds them together anew. The world glows with a sort of healthy fervor that he can feel within his bones._

_And in the center of the crater there is something new: An axe. When he pulls it from the ground, warmth fills his body, and his heart settles in his chest. It is not a remarkable weapon. Its grip is sturdy, and its blade sharp, but it boasts none of the adornments that are common among the weapons in his treasury. He knows that it is not appropriate to compare the two. None fit his grip so well. He owns them but they were not made for him. He presses his lips to the blade and tucks it close against his chest and it beats in time with his heart._

               “I adored it Mother,” he concludes. “I loved it as I would a woman. I did not let go even when the dream ended and I awoke to find my arms were empty.”

               Ninsun leans forward in her chair, her chin cupped in her palm and her eyebrows high. Her visage is not haunted by the ghost of thought as it often is during these visits: Only pure confidence and perhaps relief. She smiles. “My dearest Gilgamesh, there is no need for concern. Rather you should rejoice- your solitude will soon come to an end. The Companion is coming to Uruk.”

               Lights dim, and Gilgamesh’s face grows cold. “Companion? I have no need of such, nor is there any man worthy of filling that role.” He turns his back. Sunlight from his city bears in on him, blocking all but his silhouette from Ninsun’s eyes. “Goodbye Mother.”

               Her smile haunts him down the steps.

**

               Many months have passed since Shamhat brought Enkidu to the Hunter’s home. The father’s beard is growing grey and the Hunter has found a wife. On the day of his marriage he invited Enkidu to come with him to the city. They did not dare pass the walls- the voice was overbearing at this distance. But they could sense a boy. His presence outweighed all of the thousands of people in the city, but did not overwhelm them.

His voice was kind.

This Gilgamesh is not the boy that Enkidu remembers.

               The citizens of Uruk tremble as he passes with his chin high and his gaze low. There is a distance between them that their gap in status cannot account for. Enkidu thinks of the Hunter’s eyes, and then they understand.

               They meet in front of a temple created to worship the same gods that rule over them both. Inside a man holds his bride, and she pulls her clothing tight around her body. They know that the king is coming.

               Enkidu looks up to Gilgamesh. He is standing against the sky and cloaked in gold.

               Gilgamesh looks down to Enkidu. They are framed by dirt and clad in simple muslin.

               Enkidu swears that their breath has stopped. They have no proof that this man is the King of Uruk, nor that he is the man that they were made for, but they need none. Under his gaze their blood boils and they grin wide enough to crack their cheeks.

               Gilgamesh orders them to move.

               Face fixed in a smile, fists turned to blades, they refuse.

               They have never felt so alive.

 

**

               Neither Enkidu nor Gilgamesh have slept for two nights.

               They lay side-by-side, mirror images upon the ground in the middle of a crater that spans several miles in diameter. Priceless treasures and the shattered remains of clay copies are strewn about the wasteland.

               Enkidu hardly has the strength to reach for the bits and pieces that can make them whole again. Gilgamesh’s treasury is all but barren.

               As Enkidu’s arm, pitiful remain of an arm that it is, falls short once again, they can’t help but laugh. It starts small, and bubbles up into great bursts of sound. Though they are exhausted, energy courses through them. It buzzes over their skin in time with their laughter.

               Gilgamesh rolls his head to look at them. His brows curl up, confused at first, and then he begins to laugh along. They laugh until their throats are raw and their voices are reduced to coughs.

               When the sun sets for the third time they stagger to their feet, clutch their haggard bodies close, and totter back to the palace through the destruction they’ve wrought.

**

               Starlight wakes Gilgamesh, offset by the harsh chill of the desert night. The palace he sleeps in has stood for many years, and he’s been immune to the cold for just as long, thanks in no small part to a battalion of furs that the average man could not afford with a lifetime’s labor.

               Tonight the sheets are gone.

               He bats at his bed, seeking the warmth that is rightfully his, but his hand finds something cold and smooth instead. He traces the curve of a shoulder down to an arm and then a hand. The arm shifts and something- someone grunts.

               It is not unusual for Gilgamesh to invite at least one other to his bed. His sheets are far from the only thing that provide him protection from the night wind. But his guests never stay ‘til dawn, and none boast skin quite so smooth. Even the most beautiful of his subjects boast at least one scar. The weak do not thrive in Uruk.

               His eyes slip open.

               His bedmate’s back is perfect porcelain, soft brown dappled by moonlight. It bears no sign of the fierce battle the day before, nor signs of humanity. They mimic human form without substance. No hairs, no pores, no trace of a blemish save for three irregular circles that nest above the base of their spine.

               Somewhere among the tablets in Gilgamesh’s library there is a sketch of the monster that terrorized hunters in the western woods for nearly a decade.

               He props himself up upon his forearms to look down at the doll that lays beside him, and raises an eyebrow. They hug his furs close to their chest as a woman might cradle her child. It is difficult not to smile. There is a temptation to rip the furs free, to resume their battle within this bed. But his treasury is in disarray, and his body aches in a most satisfying fashion, and so he steals back what he can without waking them and drifts back to dreamless sleep.


	2. Ever After

               Enkidu opens their eyes to a bed they’ve never seen, in a room they’ve only dreamed of. It is difficult to sit upright at first. The bedding is infinitely softer than the pallet in the Hunter’s house, and their body keeps rolling out from under them.

               They are in the King’s bedroom.

               Afternoon sun streams in through the windows, and illuminates Gilgamesh’s hair. It shines brighter than all the gold he’s hung about his body- its purity a sharp contrast against the countless bruises blooming on his skin. His chest rises and sets to the beat of his breath, and his wounds roll with it.

               For the second time Enkidu watches in awe. But it is not the stark, sharp excitement of their first meeting. It settles warm among their thoughts.

               They shove him off the edge of the bed.

               They half expect him to rise from the ground in a fury- to draw the remaining weapons from his treasury and drive them into their remaining flesh. But he does not.

               The King stands and smiles as soft as the sunlight, and Enkidu feels something move inside their chest.

**

               Ninsun greets them with open arms.

               Enkidu hangs back, but Gilgamesh grabs their hand and tugs them into her brilliance. Stripped of the shadows they stand tall beside him, though he can feel the growl in the back of their throat through the press of their palms.

               “Mother,” Gilgamesh announces, “I would like to introduce you to my friend.” The word tastes strange in his mouth. It sends a pump of adrenaline through his veins. Enkidu’s hand is tense against his, and he brushes his thumb against their knuckles as his mother had done for him when he was small. Their grip steadies, but their tension does not wane.

               “So you have found your companion, Gilgamesh.” Ninsun’s smile could outshine the sun. “Or perhaps they have found you. Enkidu,” All eyes turn to the doll.  Their shoulders hunch, and they grow another few inches. Horns pry at their hair. Gilgamesh’s eyes and body tilt to their direction. Ninsun’s cheer does not waver for an instant. “What will you do now that you have found him? Will you complete your mission? Or…?”

               “I am his weapon.” Enkidu’s voice echoes throughout the temple. Their chest puffs out. Their eyes meet hers. Gilgamesh feels his bones creak under their hand. He grits his teeth, though not from the pain. “I will stand by his side and support him. I am not yours to wield.” The points of a thousand weapons crack the floor.  Several priestesses shriek in horror. Some move to protect their goddess. Others make for the doors.

               Ninsun’s feet alight upon the tips of the bloodthirsty blades. Gilgamesh jerks forward but Enkidu stands their ground and their grip holds him back. He turns to them again. They are a mirror of the memory of some days before: the beautiful stranger that shook him to his core. He stays his feet and adopts the set of their jaw.

Once, many many years ago when he was still a child with hope in his eyes, he stood before the gods in just such a way. They’d been furious, and created a punishment. That punishment now stands beside him in their own act of rebellion. Enkidu stands before the gods and does not quake.

               But Ninsun does not tower nor does she offer a thousand curses for her tool’s disobedience. She stands before Enkidu and cups her hand over Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s interlaced fingers. Her voice is warm like the light in Gilgamesh’s chest.  “This is good, Enkidu. You are exactly what I had hoped you would become. I am glad that you have come here. There is something that I wanted to give you.”

               Light weaves into the temple in braids and forms a circlet in her hands.

               Enkidu’s grip upon Gilgamesh falls loose. They lean forward entranced by the glow. It fades away, leaving a simple necklace behind. It is long- impractically so. Perhaps even long enough to reach around the neck of the form they’d taken in the woods. But for all its simplicity, they can feel power, both divine and magical, oozing off it in waves.

               “Enkidu.”

               They lower their head without hesitation.

               Ninsun smiles and holds the necklace before her. “From this day on you are my child. This pendant shall keep you safe. In turn I ask that you protect my son from harm and stay by his side. Can you do that?”

               No words are necessary. A sharp nod suffices. Enkidu’s hand finds Gilgamesh’s again. The necklace settles around their shoulders. It is lighter than they expected. They turn to find that Gilgamesh appears embarrassed by his mother’s gesture. Tension slips from their shoulders and they press their knuckles to their lips to muffle their laughter.

                “I am glad.” Ninsun is back in her throne, robes draped across the stone as if she’d never left. “Gilgamesh. You would not come here merely to introduce your friend. You are leaving on a journey are you not?”

               “We will slay Humbaba- the guardian of the Cedar forest.” He confirms.

               “Humbaba the Terrible,” Ninsun’s breath is light. She does not sound surprised, but her posture slips. “Enkidu. You were close to Humbaba while you lived in the forest. I trust that you have told my son of the extent of her strength.”

               Gilgamesh scoffs.

               Enkidu’s left hand slips to grip the necklace draped about their neck. “I have.” Their voice wavers just like hers.

               “You have tried to dissuade him.” It is not a question.

               Enkidu rolls their eyes to glare at their companion.

               Gilgamesh keeps his eyes forward, fixed upon his mother’s form. “I am prepared. A monster cannot hope to stand against a king, no matter how terrifying.”

               Ninsun does not look at her son for she knows what she will see. She instead looks to Enkidu. They stand tall at his side, and violence crackles just under their smooth façade. They are raw power in a human’s guise and their eyes speak novels that their mouth does not. She sees the way that they look at her son and feels the ghost of their locked hands upon her own. “I wish you fortune on your journey. May you find whatever it is that you seek.”

               The light from the entrance flickers with their departure and Ninsun calls a priestess to her side. She whispers a request in her ear, and the woman disappears into the furthest recesses of the temple. Her son and his companion have a long journey ahead of them. There are preparations to be made.

**

                The path across the mountains is not so much a road as it is a deer trail, overgrown in parts and blocked by debris for more than one stretch. It is no place for a king, but Gilgamesh has never been a mere king.

               Even so, Enkidu is more familiar with this terrain. They leap from rock to rock with the ease of a gazelle, and the affection Gilgamesh feels is matched by an immeasurable urge to sock them in the face. He is sure that they would understand.

               Every evening when the sun sets Enkidu leads him to fresh water and they feast upon plants and the animals of the mountains. Each night they huddle close for warmth and Gilgamesh wakes with his hands tangled in Enkidu’s hair, and his limbs wrapped tight around them. They tease him about many things, but never this.

               As they walk they speak. Gilgamesh does the majority of the talking. He passes stories of the gods and of Uruk and of his rule. Enkidu has heard some from Shamhat, but others are new. They listen with open ears, and reciprocate when they can. It is not enough for Gilgamesh.

               “Have you so little to tell? You have existed for at least a decade. Tell me, how did you spend your life in the wild?”

               “There is only so much that I can offer,” they confess. “At the time I had the mind of a beast. I did little more than eat, play, and sleep.”

               “Indulging in the joys of life then.”

               “I suppose that you understand it that way given a certain perspective. But to me it was simply living.”

               Gilgamesh cuts ahead, and crests a hill. The Cedar Forest spreads into infinity before them. “Then tell me of your time with Humbaba!”

               Enkidu stands beside him, looking out on the trees that sheltered them in the early years. They can see the traces of her home upon the horizon.  Her court is not as large as Gilgamesh’s. It does not house the gold or the gems or the people, but it holds fond memories all the same. “She is strong,” they begin. “Perhaps even stronger than I was then. But she was gentle and fair. She cared for me when I was first created- brought me food and taught me to speak with the animals of the forest. In return for her hospitality I gave her a garden. She was always fond of flowers. She was a dear friend.”

               They feel his fingers carving into the clay of his wrist. They are not surprised. “Gil. I will tell you one more time. You are strong, but she is stronger. And if you do succeed in killing her, the gods will be furious. There is a chance you will die no matter the outcome.”

               “I will not die.” He spits out the words.

               Enkidu places their hand over his, and his grip eases. “Why do you wish to kill her?”

               “For the sake of Uruk.”

               Enkidu shakes their head, and gives his hand a squeeze. “It is true that by killing Humbaba you will acquire high quality lumber that would be difficult to find otherwise. But there are other sources that risk less.”

               “Is that so?”

               They throw a sharp punch at his shoulder. “It is! You’ve told me as much.”

               Gilgamesh releases them and rubs at the ache in his arm. “Then as a celebration of our meeting.”

               “An odd way to celebrate,” Enkidu observes. Their tone is as dry as it is soft. “Then it is not just some scheme to ensure that your name is remembered in that future you wish to protect?”

               They receive a light punch in return for that. Gilgamesh starts down the hill to the forest. They follow close behind.

\--

               Gilgamesh does not dream without reason. Perhaps it is a product of his divine blood, or his place as a king, or his odd brand of magic. It does not matter. His dreams hold the future.

               Two days before they are due to reach Humbaba’s court he wakes in a sweat and shakes Enkidu awake with quaking hands. They rise to their knees and move to disentangle themselves from his grip, but he holds them tight as his strength allows.

               Enkidu waits, hands pressed against Gilgamesh’s shoulders, trying to steady his tremors. “Gil,” He looks up. He is smiling but it is a sickly sort of grin. They drop their head to his shoulder. “Tell me. What did you see?”

               “A mountain.” As he speaks the color blends back into his face. “A great mountain that towered beside us. It fell upon us and crushed us both.” He pushes Enkidu back and searches their eyes. “Perhaps you were correct. Perhaps this is a fool’s-“

               Enkidu tugs their sleeve over their hand and wipes away his sweat just as Shamhat had done for them many years before. “It is not a fool’s errand, Gil. You are no fool. Though, perhaps, a little bad at interpreting dreams. Let’s see.” They press a finger to their lips and think a moment. “The mountain is Humbaba of course. You’ve guessed that much. But you are paying attention to the wrong part. It isn’t important _where_ the mountain falls. Humbaba will fall, and we will be the ones to kill her.”

               Gilgamesh falls still. “Is that so?”

               “Yes,” Enkidu replies with confidence they cannot afford, “Would I lie to you?”

               “Only in jest.” he sounds exasperated, but he no longer shakes. “So I trust that you will not lie to me now.”

                “Of course not.”

               “Then what you said to my mother. Was that true?”

               Enkidu sinks back and places their palm upon the trunk of a tree. They do not meet his eyes. “I said many things to Ninsun.”

               “You are not my weapon Enkidu.” They jerk away, but he catches their arm. They could wrench themselves free if they wished to. They have more hold on him than he does on them. But they do not.

               “Gil,”

               Gilgamesh tugs, hoping that they will turn their head to look at him. “You are my friend.”

               “ _Gil._ ”

               “You are not a weapon.” It is a command.

               Stars pass by- constellations yet to be named. Hundreds of future legends reflect in Enkidu’s eyes. They roll their head to look at him and cup his face in their hands. “Gil. You are a kind man.” He smiles in return. They drop their hands to his shoulders and yank him back down to the ground. “And we need our rest. Felling mountains is tiring work.”

               He does not object to that.  

\--

               The forest is darkest within half a mile of Humbaba’s house. Gilgamesh and Enkidu stop just at the edge of her territory. The monkeys shriek and the birds answer their calls with screams of their own.

               Enkidu presses their head to one of the trees and mutters a quick apology.

               Golden light warms their back. They turn. Gilgamesh tests the weight of an axe in his hands. Each swing splits the wind into twin whistles. He looks to Enkidu.

               “You could just as well use me you know,” they pout.

               “I will need you for the battle to come. Besides. A tree like this isn’t worthy of your strength.”

               “I think that it is a fine tree,” Enkidu raises an eyebrow and looks back. “It is a shame, but it can’t be helped.  Are you ready?”

               Gilgamesh raises his weapon and takes aim. “Of course. And you?”

               They share a smile.

               The tree falls. The earth trembles. Humbaba is coming.

**

               The forest is quiet. The animals are gone, and its guardian is dead.

Enkidu pants, blood on their hands and a wild light in their eyes. Their horns crackle, spreading and crumbling at equal rates, lifting tangled hair in matted clumps.

               They snap their joints back into a semblance of humanity and grin. Flesh and gristle coat their teeth. Their childhood friend’s corpse lays in pieces about them.

               Gilgamesh stands stunned.

Just for a moment Enkidu thinks they see him smile.

               Floating on the blissful edge of bloodlust and reason, they wrap their arms around their king and press their mouth against his.

               Gilgamesh presses back. 

               They topple back into the gore, tasting blood, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

**

               Firm hands push Enkidu’s head back under water. They open their mouth and salt bites their tongue, and even though they cannot taste it they can _feel_ it. They dig their nails into Gilgamesh’s wrists, but he does not relent. Those wounds are nothing compared to what he’d received from Humbaba.

               Gilgamesh is nothing like Shamhat. Rather than use soft words and kinder smiles, he’d simply torn the clothes from their body and hurled them into the ocean.

               Their hair caught the worst of it- particularly after. Bits of Humbaba still cling to their scalp. Specks of bone are tangled up in their locks. His hands are rough- unused to this task. But for every strand of hair he rips out, he subtracts two spots of guts and grime. By the time that Gilgamesh reaches the last clump, Enkidu has resigned themself to tolerating the second bath in their life, if not enjoying it.

               When he finally allows them back above the surface (it is fortunate that they do not need to breathe) they shake the saltwater from their hair in a series of sharp snaps.

\--

               Gilgamesh dries his skin in the harsh sunlight loosed from behind the shield of trees. Leaves carpet the ground and wood chips cover the excess. No tree stands for miles behind him. Thousands float in the sea ahead.

               And before them all stands Enkidu, a trunk wider than they are tall slung upon their shoulder. Despite the impossible weight their face remains a portrait of beauty. Though they’d fought a long battle with Humbaba the Terrible, their body has already recovered the clay it lost. Skin without blemish. Fragile arms rippling with strength to match his own. Their skin still glistens with the shine of salt water, and their robes are knotted about their waist. The only interruption to perfect porcelain is the pendant that Ninsun gave them. A crown of flowers rests upon their head.

               Gilgamesh finds his mouth is dry. “Are you done?”

               “Perhaps it would go faster if you would lend a hand,” Enkidu laughs back, and drops the log in a line of others. “Though if you are that impatient I think that this should be enough for the raft. We can toss the remainder in your treasury.”

               He reclines against a rock, indulging in the sensation of warm stone against his skin. “There is no place in my collection for wood like this. We will send someone back-“

               “Catch!”

               The sun blots out. Gilgamesh can feel the weight of the tree before he sees it. A golden portal swallows it whole mere inches from his chest. Sweat not born from heat prickles at his neck.  

               Enkidu is smiling. “See? You have plenty of room.”

               Gilgamesh cannot argue with that.

\--

               They rest below the stars in the sky and above the countless lives of the sea below, nestled on a cedar raft of their own design. The heavens expand forever. The sea is its mirror.  The remains of the Cedar forest are leagues away- Uruk is even further. Out here Gilgamesh is not a king. He has no power, no subjects, not even the earth beneath his feet.

               But Enkidu is a steady weight beside him even as they snore. He runs his fingers through their hair and the very act anchors him to this time. This place. There are no gods nor men out here. There is nothing but two beings with no other place in the world but each other. In that way it is not very different from the day they’d met. Even the valiant priestess he’d ordered into the woods did not dare come between them.

               Gilgamesh twists his friend’s hair about his fingers, creating a thousand rings. Fingers curl. He must be pulling at Enkidu’s scalp by now, but they show no sign of discomfort. This simple act of intimacy is something that has never been able to grasp, no matter how many beds he’d shared. None dared sleep beside the king.

               But Enkidu knows no fear. They do not tremble, even before the gods. He whispers their name and they wake in an instant. “What is it Gil? Are we back in Uruk?”

               “It’s been less than a day, fool. How far do you think the ocean can carry us?”

               “As far as we like.” Enkidu stifles a yawn and ducks closer.

               Gilgamesh can feel their chest pressed against his arm. They are cold to the touch, but he can feel his body heat seeping into their clay. It rises and falls in an imitation of breath as they speak.

               “Then why bother waking me?” Enkidu grumbles. “I worked very hard today. My magical reactor needs time to recover its strength, so unless you plan on providing-”

               Gilgamesh claps his hand over their mouth. Their smile disappears beneath his palm. Just above it their eyes are alight with quiet curiosity.  Once he is sure that they will not interrupt he slips his hand away.

               “Enkidu, you have killed your friend.”

               Their gaze gleams like the cold steel of his axe. Waves crash against the side of their raft, and its connections creak. Sea spray wafts over them. Enkidu does not respond, and so he continues.

               “When Humbaba sought my mercy you insisted that I take her head, and when I hesitated you moved where I could not. You razed your childhood forest to the ground. You agreed to go with me even though you’d known that it would end this way from the start.”

               Their nod is almost imperceptible in the dark.

               “Because I ordered you?”

               The rush of the waves is the only sound.

               Gilgamesh’s voice cuts through the surf. “Because you are my ‘weapon’?”  

               They butt their head up against his chin with slightly more force than necessary, and hook an arm around his back. He can feel their breath on his chest. They can feel his breath on their head. It is consistent. Effortless. Warm. Very human, though he is little more human than they are.  “No,” they say, “Not because I am your weapon.”

               A million questions and a thousand more retorts thread their way through Gilgamesh’s mind.  Rather than voicing them, he tangles his fingers in their hair and breathes in. They smell like the earth and the ocean breeze and home. Uruk. When had the scent of his city superseded that of the forest? “En.”

               “Yes?”

Their voice is muffled against his skin. He feels their response more than hears it.

Gilgamesh hesitates. He’d never known trepidation until the day that a stranger pried apart his iron fist. It is as thrilling as it is uncomfortable.  He remembers Enkidu’s smile, fangs soaked in blood, Humbaba dead about their feet. He squeezes them close until a normal man would break. “Will you stay by my side?” He knows that he cannot stop them if they refuse. They are not his subject. They are not his weapon. They are not his inferior in any way.

               The dark of night masks the subtleties of his companion’s expression, but their voice is bright. “Uncertainty like that does not suit you. Is that why you are holding me here? Are you afraid that I’ll tease you if I see your face?”

               “ _En_.”

               Enkidu laughs and shakes their head, and their voice rings clear over the roar of the sea. “I was created for you Gil. Yours was the first voice I ever heard, and I will stay by your side until the very end. Besides,” he can feel their smile twist into his chest, “You wouldn’t last a day without me.”  

               Gilgamesh socks them in the jaw.

               He does have, at the very least, the good grace to catch them before they fall into the water.

**

               There is no one waiting to greet them at the walls when they return. Gilgamesh does not appear to mind. He smiles and laughs and hurls the errant elbow into Enkidu’s side. Enkidu laughs along and waves to the guards at the arches that lead to Uruk.

               The pair stumbles forward as if they are drunk. Gilgamesh’s dressings are sloppy at best, and the blood seeps through in some places. “A feast!” he bellows. “Prepare the finest meal for my friend and I. We’ve returned from a long journey. Enkidu, what sort of food do you like?” He continues before they can respond. “Bring everything! And call a team of workers to the palace- this wall has gone without a gate for far too long!” He stops. Stares. His smile falters. “Why are you staring? Go!”

               The guards bolt and Enkidu leans against him, shaking with residual giggles.

               No amount of coercion from Gilgamesh can extract an explanation.

               Uruk is just as it has always been. It is big and bright and his palace rises well above the rest. It is a sight that Gilgamesh has seen countless times, and streets he’s walked more times than living memory can record. But there is a strange sense that something is different. The people, he realizes, are not bustling about, nor are they diving to escape his path. They line the streets and watch with hushed whispers. Some smile. Some frown. Some gape.

               Enkidu dances ahead on fresh feet, and a child darts from the crowd to press a fistful of flowers into their hands. They weave a crown (like the one that fell from Humbaba’s head) and place it upon the girl. She laughs and smiles and Gilgamesh finds that his lips are twitching upwards.

               A crowd swells behind them as they make their way to the heart of the city, making constant detours to settle the curiosity of Enkidu and the citizens alike. By the time they arrive at the palace the food has long since cooled, but neither the king nor his companion seem to mind.

**

               Warm sun washes over Uruk, and the people of the city close their eyes and turn to face the sky. The last few rays are the warmest. Soon they will head back to their homes and rest for the night. It has been a long day for all of them- a long several months in fact. But the great cedar gates are now complete and in place, a monument to the slaughter of the guardian of the forest.

               Atop the outer walls Gilgamesh pours another goblet of wine. Enkidu dangles their feet over the edge and hums a tune as the last vestiges of the day sink below the horizon.

               Enkidu is the first to break the silence. “That woman has been skulking around lately.” Their eyes are fixed upon the mountains. “I think that she’s been watching you.”

               “No woman can resist my radiance. Not even the goddess of love herself.” Gilgamesh snorts. There is something sparkling on the horizon. It is not the first time that he’s noticed it. The gods had not cared for him since he was a child, but ever since Enkidu’s arrival he’s sensed the possibility on the horizon. There’s been more than enough time to determine what she wants. He takes another long drink, and offers his cup to his friend.

               Enkidu rolls their eyes and pushes it back. “ _Gil._ ” He has not told them yet. He had not wanted to see that face. But he has had time to prepare for this too.

               “What do you think Enkidu? Perhaps I should humor her inevitable request.” Sarcasm drips from his every word.

               It should be enough, but his calculations have never been enough to account for Enkidu.

               They hurl their full weight against him. The wine and its container tumble over the wall. They tussle like children, pulling hair and biting skin and hurling half-thought taunts back and forth, and _surely_ they’ve attracted the attention half the city by now.

               The stars are already bright in the sky by the time they collapse next to one another, mirror images covered in dents and blood and sweat. Enkidu’s hand finds Gilgamesh. Their cool clay skin serves as a balm for his bruises. The hill where they’d first met is visible from here. The repairs to the temple are complete, and the crater has been packed full of dirt. Tentative tufts of grass are visible even from this distance. They cluster, for the most part, around a single sapling Enkidu stole from the Cedar Forest.

               Enkidu starts to sing. It is an old song that Gilgamesh had heard passed from harried mothers to crying children.  A lullaby. He knows as much though he’s never heard the full tune. As his eyelids grow heavy and his mind begins to drift he does not worry about Ishtar, nor Uruk, nor the aches and pains that will come with morning.

               Just this once there is nothing but this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew- I wish I could've spent a bit more time on this, but fact is I've been sitting on some of these scenes for over a year, and it's definitely time to just put them out there.   
> I decided to end things before everything goes all to shit with Ishtar and the Bull of Heaven. Maybe I'll write that some other time. 
> 
> I went with female pronouns for Humbaba considering the information on Enkidu's Bond CE.


End file.
